Because you can
by rain pitter-patters
Summary: Blaine gets some bad news and for once, it's Kurt who is more experienced and is the one to offer comfort. T because I'm being cautious, and I think this is a bit sad for K. Thanks for reading!


_Hello! Thanks for taking the time to check this out : ) _

_To anyone reading Darkness and Hope: I promise to update soon, and I'm sorry about the wait. I've had a bunch of stuff going on lately (of course, everyone does) and I shouldn't have written this because I don't have the time-but this just sort of _happened_ and I think I needed to write it. I'm sorry not to say I'll have a new chapter up tomorrow... I think I can confidently say about a week. _

_I wrote this just now and I've read it over, but haven't edited as much as I usually do. Sorry for any roughness or mistakes.  
_

_I hope you enjoy reading this (I'm thinking it'll be two chapters). _

_The word count in 1,547 (excluding this note). Thanks to everyone who has read, alerted, favorited, and/or reviewed my stories. It means a lot :) _

_Kurt and Blaine are not together in this story, and I do not own glee.  
_

* * *

Kurt walks lightly, swiftly down the hall, excitedly contemplating what he and Blaine should do tonight. _Disney movie night… Or possibly hunt for Broadway videos on YouTube? Or we could—_

His thought process stops suddenly in its tracks.

Most people probably wouldn't notice, but he could never miss it: Blaine's room is completely, utterly silent. Okay, so it's a small thing. For most people, it would be a normal, natural occurrence. _It probably signifies nothing_, Kurt reassures himself… but then there's that nagging voice in the back of his head. _You've never heard it silent, not at this time of day—and you know it._

Cautiously, Kurt approaches the door. After a gentle, almost hesitant knock receives no reply, he tries the handle. "Blaine? You're sort of scaring me here," he murmurs while opening the door and then turning to survey the room. He almost decides he's talking to himself, but then his gaze lands on an often overlooked corner. "I've never—"

His voice seems to be stuck in his throat, because his brain cannot quite process the picture in front of him. The corner (which Blaine hung bright posters in a week or two ago in an effort to make it more cheerful) houses a frozen boy, staring at a cell phone clutched in his hand. It appears as though he could've been sitting in this exact position for hours. _Hours_.

Kurt swallows thickly. ". . . Blaine?"

Blaine fails to respond. He doesn't even twitch, and _how long have his eyes been open like that?_ Blaine's eyes, typically so soft and warm, now are red from a lack of blinking (and probably from whatever sent him into shock).

Without even remembering how he got there, Kurt finds himself kneeling as close as he can to Blaine, hugging him and rocking him and whispering in his ear. "Blaine? Look at me. It's going to be okay, just… just look at me, okay? Please?" Blaine's head slowly falls to his friend's shoulder, but he makes no sound and continues holding the phone desperately.

Fear creeps into Kurt's stomach, as he realizes that he's probably completely in over his head here. He doesn't even have the slightest idea what happened and knows nothing about helping people in shock. For that matter, he doesn't even know if Blaine _is_ in shock.

He knows that he can't leave now; he can't walk away, even if it would mean he could frantically search online for symptoms and how best to respond. So he merely continues holding and rocking and whispering, because it's better than nothing. Even if he went online, he wouldn't know what to do, because emotional injuries are different for every person and no website would be able to give him some magic solution.

"I've got you, I promise. I've got you, I've got you," he repeats like a mantra, occasionally adding in "It will be okay" and "I won't go anywhere" and "would you please look at me?"

Nothing appears to help, so he asks "Do you want anything?" Then, "Do you want me to… call somebody?"

And _then_, Blaine starts crying.

. . . . . . . . .

Kurt's thoughts rotate between a frantic _I broke him, I broke him, I _broke_ him_ and a calmer _I think this might be healthier than… whatever-it-was-that-he-was-doing. _

Blaine drops the phone, and it clatters to the floor unnoticed. His hands reach for the nearest thing to hold, which happens to be Kurt's torso. Kurt swiftly acquiesces, shifting so that Blaine can hug him more easily.

He swallows his questions without hesitation, knowing that Blaine simply cannot answer them at the moment. Instead of asking anything, he softly murmurs nonsense. He doubts it's very comforting, but he hopes it gives something for Blaine to hold onto, instead of focusing and the way his breath is coming in gasps and the way his chest is heaving and the way tears are slipping down his face.

Blaine cannot cry forever, but any attempt to stop the tears would merely perpetuate them.

"Hush, I've got you. I'm here. Cry as long as you want, as long as you need to. I'm here."

Any outsider would surely see deep connection between the two boys. He would read it in the in the arms gently holding Blaine and the angle of the head leaning on Kurt's shoulder and in perhaps a thousand other ways.

Instead, not a soul intrudes upon their space and the boys remain in their positions for ages before either even considers moving.

. . . . . . . . .

As Blaine's sobs start to subside, Kurt reaches for his hand. Somehow he manages to keep just as close to Blaine as he carefully pulls them both to their feet. Then he directs Blaine to sit on his bed and climbs onto it while pulling the covers around them both. Leaning against the headboard, he pulls Blaine back into their embrace and waits for him to recover his breath and for the tears to stop filling his eyes.

After a few minutes Blaine takes a deep, shuddering breath that becomes less shaky towards its end. Then another, and another.

Haltingly, one of his hands reaches to wipe at his eyes and he stares at a tear on his finger as though it is completely, utterly foreign.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Blaine shakes his head emphatically. So quietly that Kurt can only just barely hear, Blaine whispers "I don't… want… to cry any more."

Kurt's arms tighten around Blaine for a moment in reassurance before he asks "If it wouldn't make you cry, would you like to?"

He absorbs Blaine's nod for a moment.

"You could write whatever you want to say down. It might not make you cry. For me, it's the actual talking that triggers it."

Blaine gives a miniscule nod and Kurt moves to get paper and a pencil from Blaine's desk, but Blaine immediately grabs his arm to prevent it.

"You don't want to write it down?" When Blaine shakes his head, Kurt continues, "that's fine, I'll—"

Kurt stops as Blaine shakes his head again. In the same tiny whisper as before, he explains: "You can't leave me… not even for a minute."

"… Okay." Kurt shifts even closer to Blaine (pretty much as close as it's possible to get) and pulls out his phone. "It's not the best, but you could type it out, if you want."

Blaine reaches for it, but stops. "N-no. That's silly. All of this, it's… so… _silly._"

"It isn't silly at all Blaine. You don't have to if you don't want to, but if it'll help, there is absolutely nothing silly about typing it out."

The boy—he seems so small and vulnerable in his grief—accepts the phone and begins typing.

. . . . . . . . .

**My father. He called me, and he said **(Blaine pauses here, closing his eyes for a moment) **that my grandmother died. of a stroke or something and it shouldn't have happened because she is so full of life was so full of life and its not fair and of course it isnt fair because it never is but it isnt fair and she shouldnt have been the one and**

He stops typing, dropping the phone in Kurt's hands and trying to breathe. In any other situation, he would have perfect grammar in the text because whenever he writes more than a word or two he can't stand not using the appropriate spellings and punctuation.

Kurt reads the words with trepidation and he spots the word _died_ before any of the others. His breath halts for a moment, before releasing into a small sigh. He holds in the words _I'm so sorry, God Blaine I'm so sorry _because he knows they won't do any good. They never do, in this situation._ No words help, do they? There's nothing to offer that makes the pain lessen or the hurt fade away. There's nothing to say to convince anyone that the pain won't be this intense forever, that at some point you'll be able to laugh without stopping suddenly and remembering, _he thinks sadly to himself, remembering.

Still, he has to offer something. "It isn't fair, you're right: it never is fair. And I know it doesn't solve anything, but I have you and I promise not to go anywhere.

"And I don't know exactly how you feel because that's impossible, but I sort of do because of my mom and I know it doesn't feel possible, but it is going to, eventually, be okay."

One more tear makes its way down Blaine's face as he attempts a smile. He fails, but his silent thanks easily reaches Kurt, who brushes away the tear.

They're lucky, in a way, because it's Friday. They don't have to worry about homework or asking to be excused from class. And when they both drift into sleep cuddling with each other, no adult interrupts them because on Fridays, there aren't dorm checks.

Amazingly, neither boy wakes until the morning sun streams through the window.

. . . . . . . . .

_Please review! (no flames, but constructive criticism welcome) _


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